Gray Skies Again
by Bella Lumina
Summary: A companion to Nothing to Be Afraid Of...Martin Shepard's views on Sydney and Vaughn's blossoming relationship.
1. Part One

"Gray Skies Again" (1/3)  
  
Author: Bella  
E-mail: bella_lumina@yahoo.com  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: The characters (except Joe, Jamie, John, and Nina and Ellie Vaughn) are not mine.  
Spoilers: Everything up to and including "The Box." Minor spoilers from "The Coup" are referenced indirectly. You probably won't be able to find them if you aren't looking.  
Notes: This is a companion piece to "Nothing to Be Afraid Of." Thanks to Cassandra for the beta-read! :) Another story will follow this one, tying up the loose ends.  
  
  
  
*September 17, 2003*  
  
I need to write this down, although it will probably come back to haunt me. I have to tell someone. I can't keep it inside of me anymore, or I think it will eat through my skin.  
  
Think about it: how would you feel if the woman you loved was sleeping with someone else? How would you feel? I can tell you how it feels. It feels unbearable. It feels like someone is sitting on your chest, crushing you. You want to scream and cry at the same time.  
  
I saw them. I'd seen them together before, but I figured he was just some guy she worked with. In her job, this sort of man was always around: the man in the well-tailored business suit. He was attractive, I'll give her that; he had sandy brown hair and piercing gray-green eyes. His stare was disconcerting, I could tell, and he had never even stared at me. I peered through his apartment window, and I saw them in his bed.  
  
I figured out that this man was CIA, not SD-6, about two months before. I had noticed that she met him regularly, but not openly, a year ago. Six months ago she stopped meeting with him abruptly, and instead a larger man with darker hair. Occasionally, though, the green-eyed man would make a reappearance. It took me all this time to figure out who he was. Now there's no question in my mind at all.  
  
You see, though I'm technically dead, I still have access to the same things that I did when I was alive. I can use a fake social security number to get fake mail. I have a fake name. And I can use my brains to figure things out. This green-eyed man was Sydney's CIA agent. It was obvious that he had been in love with her for quite some time, though I don't think as long as I've loved her.  
  
I feel like I've loved her forever, and I've figured out that maybe she could love me, too. It isn't outside of the realm of possibility, after all. If a woman can forgive a man for killing the man that she loves, then that woman can surely learn to love that man as well. If she has that sort of capability for forgiveness in her life, her capacity for love must be inexhaustible. It really does make perfect sense when you reason it out.  
  
SD-6 was done this afternoon; the CIA vehicles pulled up after two, and I knew it was over. I watched as the sandy-haired, green-eyed man of Sydney's paced back and forth, talking with the darker-haired man. I waited, holding my breath, until I finally saw her. An unfamiliar agent brought her out of the building, and her green-eyed man hurried to her, holding her while she cried. He kissed her; I had never seen him kiss her before.  
  
And she went home with him. I followed; I had to make sure she was okay. She'd been through so much. It made me sick to see them together, but I had to make sure she was okay. He took her to his bedroom, and she slept with him on his bed. She slept with this man, who she obviously had little or no contact with anymore. I couldn't believe she would do something like that. But she did; she let him take her clothes off, and she let him kiss her and touch her, and she let him sleep with her. I learned his name, because she called it out: "Michael."  
  
And now, what's worse is that they're together constantly. She went away -- with him, I presume -- the night after, and they were gone for several days. Since then she's either spent the night at his apartment or he's spent the night at her house. It's disgusting.  
  
Tonight, I saw them again together for the first time. I knew that they were with each other every night because I had seen their cars in front of each other's houses, but I hadn't been able to compel myself to watch for her, although my entire being ached for her. Sydney Bristow is like a drug. She's like heroin. One exposure and you're permanently hooked.  
  
He was at her house this time. Her friend wasn't at home, and they called for takeout pizza and ate messily in the living room in front of the television. He laughed with her and grinned at her. When she had finished her pizza, he leaned over and buried his hands in her hair before kissing her soundly. She melted into him, discarding her plate to move closer to him. She murmured -- I couldn't hear what she said -- and they stood and stumbled to her bedroom. I left. There's something wrong about this situation, and I haven't figured it out yet, but you can be certain that I'm going to.  
  
  
*October 4, 2003*  
  
Sydney is back at college full-time, and I think she's going to get an education degree. She's close to finishing her masters, I know, and I think she's planning to teach high school English. She would be a wonderful teacher. She's taught me a million things.  
  
Her reporter friend is dying over her newly discovered relationship with the CIA agent. I don't think any of them know that he's CIA. I know, but then again I know lots of things. The reporter is in love with her, not the way that I'm in love with her, because this guy couldn't possibly understand that. His eyes follow her when she leaves a room. He makes flippant comments to Francie when Sydney isn't around. He needs to find someone else.  
  
They went to a hockey game tonight -- by them, of course, I mean Sydney and her new right arm, "Michael." Apparently he likes hockey. I don't know. She's never been a compulsive hockey fan. They didn't get back until one o'clock in the morning, and they sacked out on her bed. He drapes an arm over her while they sleep, like she's a possession of his. Sydney Bristow is no one's possession, yet apparently this man feels like he has some claim on her. He doesn't own her, and he needs to get that through his head quickly.  
  
  
*October 31, 2003*  
  
Usually Sydney and Francie have a huge Halloween party, but this year they didn't. Francie has a new boyfriend; I don't know what his name is, but he's a doctor and he obviously has money. She and her boyfriend took his little brother out trick-or-treating.  
  
Sydney and the CIA agent went to a bar with some of his friends. I've done some checking. There's the darker-haired CIA agent; his name is Eric Weiss. The blonde man is Vaughn's (that's his last name -- I checked some records last week) college roommate, Joe. Joe's wife is Jamie, a pretty, red-haired woman. And then there's a blonde woman who Vaughn used to date: Alice. Surprisingly, Sydney doesn't seem to have a problem with being around Alice. Just one more sign that this flirtation with Vaughn probably won't last long.  
  
The bar was typical; low lighting and dark wood. There was a pool table in one corner and a jukebox in the other. Fake cobwebs were strewn everywhere. I sat at the bar, ostensibly watching a basketball game on television. She sat in a booth beside Vaughn with Eric on her other side. "I'm going to set you up with someone," she informed Eric, sipping at her beer.  
  
He gave her a disbelieving look. "You're really not."  
  
"No, no, there's this girl in one of my lit classes," she continued. Vaughn laughed at Eric's eye roll. "She's pretty. You two would really hit it off."  
  
"Jamie, explain this to me," Eric began. "You're a woman in a relationship."  
  
Jamie laughed, inspecting her wedding ring. "You know what, you're right..."  
  
"Stop it," Eric replied good-naturedly. "You know what I mean..."  
  
They went on to discuss the reasons that women in happy relationships always want to set up their friends; Sydney snorted and leaned against Vaughn. I left just as Alice walked into the bar, giving Sydney a very succinct look and sitting down beside Joe. I really didn't feel the need to watch them bicker over some tool like Vaughn. That would be just too much.  
  
Watching them tonight, I began to feel a bit frightened. I really thought that she would be over her fixation on him quickly, and it's been more than a month now. I'm not sure how things are going to change, but they've got to change soon.  
  
  
*November 13, 2003*  
  
Sydney's reporter -- I've discovered that his name is Will -- quit his job at the paper suddenly. He's been hanging around her house, not really doing much of anything. He seems incredibly suspicious of everyone, and I'm not sure why.  
  
This guy, Will, is the one who was investigating (and I use that term loosely) Danny's death for his editors. I don't have any evidence that he found anything conclusive about the murder or about Sydney. Of course, if he had discovered that it was me -- because, after all, I am the one who killed Danny Hecht -- he wouldn't be able to go any further. I'm legally dead. This has its advantages sometimes.  
  
I suppose that Will and I have more in common than one would think. He's got some sort of crush on Sydney; I don't think he loves her like I do, but then, the love I have for her isn't a normal kind of love. It's like respect and admiration coiled up together with lust and longing. I wonder sometimes when I'm going to snap again. I don't snap when I'm with her.  
  
When I came back to Los Angeles -- it seems so long ago now, though it's only been a year -- I came back because I needed her. I didn't come back because I was in love with her. I can love someone for a long time without being around her. I *needed* her help, because she'd given me a piece of myself in Romania that I had somehow lost again along the way.  
  
I looked at a painting one day, and suddenly it was black-and-white again. No, I shouldn't say things like that. The transformation wasn't sudden. I knew exactly why I had lost myself again. I had worked on restraint and patience for so long, but that night in Germany when that dirty little beggar had stolen all of my drawings...  
  
I killed a person again. I don't know why I did it. No, I do know why; I don't know why I reacted the way that I did. I snapped. *No man is an island*, I remember thinking wildly. I didn't need to kill him, but I did, methodically, in the same way that I had been taught years before. I threw his body in the Rhine; the next morning I woke to a black-and-white world. Gray skies again...  
  
So I came to find her. After all, she was the one who had inexplicably fixed something in my brain the last time I had seen her. And behold, once I found her, once I felt the connection we had coursing strongly within me again, the colors came back. Blue skies. I craved those blue skies.  
  
This Will seems the same; he's only at ease when he's with her, and even I can't explain that. Something's happened to him, but as long as it doesn't affect Sydney, he can deal with it on his own.  
  
  
*November 27, 2003*  
  
It was almost all over tonight. I'm getting careless, I think. That's got to stop.  
  
Apparently it's Vaughn's birthday, and there was a huge wrapped box sitting on Sydney's dining room table. The guy's older than I am, and he's older than Sydney is, too; he turned 35 today. It's hard to believe that Sydney's going to be thirty in the spring; she still looks like a freshman college student.  
  
She planned a party for him, and he seemed a little embarrassed by this. The guests began to trickle in at six-thirty: first Will and his sister, who was carrying a huge bag of store-bought ice. Francie's boyfriend -- whose name, by the way, is John, and who is a pediatrician at a hospital downtown -- showed up next. Weiss was there; Vaughn's mother came in with Joe and Jamie. Vaughn was one of the last to arrive. Sydney's father walked in five minutes before they ate. This took me by surprise; she and her father seem to get along well, but he makes no secret of the fact that he doesn't exactly approve of Vaughn. Vaughn's eyebrows raised amusingly when Mr. Bristow walked in.  
  
I didn't want to stay, really; Sydney would be fine, she had her whole family there. I didn't want to hear the stories that Joe and Vaughn's mom told. I didn't want to watch Sydney look at Vaughn adoringly every time his mother mentioned an embarrassing childhood incident.  
  
But I had to know what was in that box.  
  
I've had fantasies resembling this night since I found her house. I would wake up in the morning with her arms wrapped around me; she'd whisper, "Happy birthday," softly in my ear. There would be a box waiting for me on the table.  
  
He didn't move to open the gift until they were sitting in the living room after dinner. Just as Sydney had abandoned her seat beside him on the couch to retrieve the box, Jack Bristow's eyes snapped toward the window that I was watching through, and he nudged Vaughn. I couldn't make out what he murmured, but Vaughn's eyes also turned to the window, and he stood slowly. Vaughn's mother grimaced as he reached into a drawer in the coffee table and carefully extracted a handgun; Will's sister's eyes grew wide and round. "Sit down," Jack said harshly as Will stood to follow.  
  
I crouched and sneaked around to the other side of the house. My heart was beating wildly. I'm not sure how he didn't catch me. If it had been Sydney looking around, she would definitely have found me.  
  
  
*December 6, 2003*  
  
It's over for now. She earned her master's degree today, graduating in a ceremony at her college. When she came home that night, she was sporting a diamond on her left hand. Francie had obviously seen the diamond that morning, because she admired it several times, but she didn't freak out. He must have proposed in the morning; I had stopped by the night before to check on her, and she didn't have it then.  
  
I've done a little background check on Vaughn's mother. She's not actually American, which surprised me, because her English is pitch-perfect. Her name is Nina; she was born in Rouen in France. This made me curious, and through a little more digging, I found out that Vaughn, Mr. CIA, wasn't born in America, either. He's a dual-citizen, American and French. Go figure.  
  
I mention Vaughn's mother only because I saw her for the second time today. Francie threw a tiny get-together for Syd's graduation, and Jack, Dixon, Will, his sister (I found out that her name is Amy), John, Eric, and Vaughn's mother came over. Re-reading that sentence, I realized that I forgot to include Vaughn; the sickening thing is that he's at her house so often that I almost forget he doesn't live there. Obviously he was at the party, too.  
  
His mother cried when she saw the ring, and Francie cried again, and Sydney nearly did. Everyone fawned over the ring and hugged Sydney tightly. Jack shook Vaughn's hand tentatively, then congratulated them. Vaughn seemed surprised, yet pleased, which made my stomach turn. Even Will found it in himself to shake Vaughn's hand and hug Sydney.  
  
I was so tired that I nearly fell asleep against the side of the house. I went home, feeling defeated, before I reminded myself that engagements weren't necessarily permanent. After all, Sydney never married Danny, did she?  
  
To be continued... 


	2. Part Two

"Gray Skies Again" (2/3)  
  
Author: Bella  
E-mail: bella_lumina@yahoo.com  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: The characters (except Joe, Jamie, John, and Nina and Ellie Vaughn) are not mine.  
Spoilers: Everything up to and including "The Box." Minor spoilers from "The Coup" are referenced indirectly. You probably won't be able to find them if you aren't looking.  
Notes: This is a companion piece to "Nothing to Be Afraid Of." Thanks to Cassandra for the beta-read! :) Another story will follow this one, tying up the loose ends.  
  
  
*December 26, 2003*  
  
I don't celebrate Christmas. It's an annoying commercial holiday with too many characters and too many preconceived notions. Sydney, on the other hand, loves Christmas; I stopped by this year to see exactly why she thought it was so special.  
  
They had a huge dinner; they always have huge dinners. Vaughn's mother came over and cooked with Francie. Sydney apparently cannot cook, and she spent the late afternoon watching a movie in the living room with her -- and I hesitate to use the term -- *fiancé*. He was trying to be amusing by translating the entire movie into French. Ha. Yeah, that's a great way to impress a girl.  
  
Her dad came over for dinner with a huge bundle of gifts in his arms; there were presents for Francie, Will, Amy, and even little gifts for Nina and John. And, of course, a box for Sydney and one that bore both her name and Vaughn's.  
  
They ate turkey and ham, and John and Will traded stories about their respective childhood Christmases. Vaughn responded quietly about Christmas with his father -- like he was the only person in the room who had lost a parent -- when Francie asked gently, and Sydney, who is the best comforter I have ever seen, gently rubbed his back.  
  
Francie danced around crazily to Christmas music as they opened their presents. Most of it was run-of-the-mill: clothes, books, CDs. There were a few notable exceptions. Vaughn gave Sydney a necklace that had belonged to his grandmother; the tiny sapphires embedded in it glinted against Sydney's skin. Sydney gave him a puzzling present: a pair of worn tickets that were bent and slightly tattered around the edges. His eyebrows shot up when he opened the package, and he murmured, "You didn't use them?"  
  
She shook her head. "I didn't want to give them to anyone else. Those were ours, even if we couldn't go."  
  
He leaned over and kissed her, whispering, "I wanted to go."  
  
"I know you did," she replied softly, sighing and leaning against him. "I wish that we could have."  
  
Jack pulled off the biggest surprise of the evening; inside the box with both Sydney and Vaughn's names inscribed on it was a simple piece of paper. Apparently it was the deed to a piece of property. "I bought this when your mother and I got married," he said quickly, looking at Sydney carefully. "We never got around to using it. I'd like you to have it; build a beautiful place to live."  
  
Sydney rose from her seat on the floor beside Vaughn and launched herself into her father's arms. She thanked him quietly, and he nodded. Vaughn looked surprised; I couldn't believe that her father was somehow sanctioning this, the biggest mistake Sydney could possibly make.  
  
I didn't walk away with any new ideas about Christmas. Maybe I would have felt differently if I was the one sitting beside her, exchanging gifts that only we would understand.  
  
  
*January 5, 2004*  
  
It was almost over. I almost ended it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Looking back, I can't believe that I even tried. It would have hurt her so much, and that's not what I'm trying to do. Hurting her would hurt me. And, for some bizarre reason that I fail to understand, hurting him would hurt her, too.  
  
Did that make any sense? I don't know. All I know is that I took a gun over to her house this evening. I saw his car there, and I steeled myself. I could end her problems and my problems in one fell swoop.  
  
I watched as they cooked dinner in the kitchen. Sydney was cooking ravioli in a big silver pot on the range; Vaughn watched her out of the corner of his eyes as he chopped vegetables for a salad. She was talking about a discussion she'd had with her senior English students that day. She teaches beginning French and advanced literature courses at a private prep high school nearby.  
  
"So, this girl starts asking about Miss Havisham. How in the world could someone like that exist? Why wasn't she put into a mental institution?" Sydney recalled as she stirred the pasta.  
  
He smirked. "If she only knew..."  
  
"I really wanted to tell her that," Sydney admitted, turning her attention to the tomato sauce, stirring it quickly. She held out the wooden spoon and crooked a finger at him. "Taste?"  
  
He leaned over and wrapped his lips around the spoon; she laughed and smoothed a palm down his cheek. "Excellent," he judged, grinning and wiping a stray drop from his chin.  
  
I checked the gun to make sure the bullets were loaded.  
  
"So anyway, this other kid -- Jim, the funny one -- starts in on how his great-aunt could be Miss Havisham's evil twin. The whole thing disintegrated into this hilarious conversation about horrible relatives. One girl's grandmother has had so much plastic surgery that apparently she looks like she's always wearing one of those plastic Halloween masks from when we were kids. Remember those?"  
  
He chuckled, scooping the vegetable pieces into his hands and dropping them into a bowl of lettuce. "The ones with the nose holes? Those things were terrible. They stuck to your face."  
  
She giggled. "I had a Barbie one when I was seven. And a Wonder Woman one at some point..." Her diamond glinted as she turned off the burner. "Want red or white?"  
  
He considered this. "Red, I think. Unless you've got more of that great stuff we had last time..."  
  
"I think there might be half a bottle left," she mused, standing on her tiptoes to peer into the tallest cabinet.  
  
I had a clear shot. I raised the gun and pointed it toward him through the window. My finger was on the trigger. I felt myself begin to press down...and then I stopped. She found the bottle, nearly toppling the whole stack from the cabinet, and he rushed to stand behind her, reaching over her head to steady the bottles, pressing his body against hers. She shivered, turning around so that she was facing him, and kissed him on his neck. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and looked down at her, lifting her up onto the countertop. She laughed, wrapping her legs around his hips as he kissed her.  
  
"Sauce is going to burn..." he reminded as she moved her lips to his ear.  
  
She sighed. "I don't want to eat anymore."  
  
His stomach growled, right on cue. "I promise, after I get some food, I'm all yours." He gave her a leering grin.  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Pig."  
  
"Hussy," he replied, laughing. She glared up at him, smacking him lightly on the chest.  
  
"Come on, let's eat," she replied begrudgingly.  
  
I sighed, unloading my gun. I was a coward for even wanting to try it. I went home and didn't sleep.  
  
  
*January 30, 2004*  
  
I always thought that when Sydney Bristow got married, it would be a beautiful ceremony in some garden in the country. She'd wear a beautiful white dress, because she seems like the kind of girl who always wanted a big wedding and a white dress. There would be cake, and there would be presents. I imagined myself there, too.  
  
I was there, as it turned out, but not necessarily how I expected to be. There was no crowd, no garden, and no big white wedding dress. Sydney got married in the smallest church I had ever seen. It was a little white building in Santa Barbara, close to Vaughn's mother's home. Vaughn wore a suit -- surprise, surprise -- and Sydney wore a beautiful knee-length white dress.  
  
I heard her talking about her wedding the night before to Francie. Vaughn wasn't at her house for once, and the two of them were sitting on the living room floor watching television.  
  
"I can't believe you're getting married," Francie said for the seventeenth time.  
  
"Francie, come on," she replied, hugging her knees to her chest. "You had to have known that this would happen way before he even asked me."  
  
"I had an inkling," she admitted. "You're so attached to him."  
  
"I'm in love with him," Sydney clarified. "I love him."  
  
"He adores you, Syd," Francie offered, and Sydney blushed. "I'll admit it, I knew."  
  
"The beginning of our relationship was so difficult," Sydney began, and I listened more carefully. I knew next to nothing about how she had ended up with this CIA man. "With his job...we could barely even see each other."  
  
"I guess that makes this that much more meaningful," Francie reasoned, grabbing a handful of popcorn.  
  
"Yeah," Sydney said softly. "I can't wait for tomorrow."  
  
"No cold feet?"  
  
"Nope," she replied confidently.  
  
And apparently Vaughn didn't have cold feet either, the bastard, and she married him. After the little ceremony they went back to his mom's house, which turned out to be on the beach, and they all ate and danced on the sand until late into the night and early in the morning. I watched her dance with the man, feeling sick inside for her that she'd made such a terrible choice, watched her bare feet make soft indentations in the white sand. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he stroked her back as they moved in time with the music.  
  
When his mother brought out the wine for the toast, I went home. So she was married; what of it? Marriage isn't always permanent. Nothing in life is permanent. I should know this. Besides, she's married to a man who is in intelligence, and she and I both know what sort of people are in power in that profession. I still have to make sure that she isn't in danger; she'd done the same for me, so I owe her that much.  
  
Marriage isn't permanent, but I had to put my gun away. I needed to face it; I couldn't kill Vaughn. I love her, but for some reason beyond me, she loves him. I can't hurt someone that I love. I've already done that once, even though I didn't know her then. I can't be the one who takes this person away from her, too. All I can do is sit back and hope that she comes to her senses.  
  
  
*April 2, 2004*  
  
They've been living in her house together for three months now. Francie stayed with them for a few weeks before moving in with her boyfriend, which apparently angered his parents. She didn't move back, though, and they had the house all to themselves. I've kept an eye on her.  
  
Tonight they had their first real fight that I've witnessed. There was breaking (on her part). There was yelling (on both parts). There were tears (again, on her part). I had to literally hold myself back, because I could have gone in there and stopped it.  
  
Turns out that the whole thing was over something really stupid, and that stupid something is her friend Will. I think that Vaughn has realized what Will knows, and finally told her tonight. She refused to believe him, and he got very angry with her. She shouted that he shouldn't judge Will, that he didn't know him like she did. He fired back that she was letting her emotions cloud what she really thought. I couldn't believe that he had the audacity to yell at her like that. She yelled that she couldn't believe he wanted her to dredge all of the horrible memories from SD-6 back out just so that Will could have something to write about. Did he want their lives exposed that way? Didn't he have any respect for her judgment at all?  
  
With that, she slammed her wineglass down on the kitchen countertop, and it shattered into glinting shards around her hand. She squeaked, looking at the blood that welled in the tiny lacerations that snaked across her palm, and her tears finally spilled over. He cleaned her hand off gently and bandaged it, then pulled her into his arms and apologized. She believed him. I wanted to die.  
  
I went home. I can't stand to see her in pain. The greens and the blues start to fade when she cries, and they're my favorites of all the colors.  
  
  
To be continued... 


	3. Part Three

"Gray Skies Again" (3/3)  
  
Author: Bella  
E-mail: bella_lumina@yahoo.com  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: The characters (except Joe, Jamie, John, and Nina and Ellie Vaughn) are not mine.  
Spoilers: Everything up to and including "The Box." Minor spoilers from "The Coup" are referenced indirectly. You probably won't be able to find them if you aren't looking.  
Notes: This is a companion piece to "Nothing to Be Afraid Of." Thanks to Cassandra for the beta-read! :) Another story will follow this one, tying up the loose ends.  
  
  
*June 13, 2004*  
  
I can't believe it. I literally cannot believe it. She's pregnant. It wasn't enough that her bastard of a husband got to marry her; it wasn't enough that she was willing to sleep with him whenever he felt like it; no, he had to have a child, too.  
  
I don't know. I say those things, and I don't really know. I'm so incredibly jealous that I barely know what I'm talking about sometimes. I can't help it. I love her, and it hurts down to the very marrow of my bones that she's carrying his baby.  
  
She seems happy except when she's feeling sick, which seems to be quite often. Every day, about the time that Vaughn comes home from work, she gets so nauseous that she runs to the bathroom to throw up. He always follows her with a wet washcloth, blotting the sweat off of her forehead. They sit on the floor there, with the door open, and I watch as she leans against him while he strokes her back.  
  
"I feel awful," she said tonight, sighing. Her feet were bare, and her toes curled as he kissed the top of her head.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Syd," he replied softly. "Is there anything else I can do?"  
  
She shook her head quickly. "Just...don't move, okay?"  
  
"Okay," he agreed. "How was school?"  
  
"Kids were annoying," she answered. "I had a headache all day, and Sheila sneezed on me." Sheila's one of the math teachers; from what I gather, she's not one of Sydney's better friends. "It wasn't a good day."  
  
"At least it's Friday," he reminded. "We can sleep in tomorrow."  
  
"Francie called an hour ago," she told him. "She wants us to go to dinner with them tomorrow night."  
  
He sighed. "You know what, we might as well. We've got to tell people eventually."  
  
She groaned. "I know. It's just...if we don't tell them, it's our little secret. That's kind of cool."  
  
"They're going to notice in a few months, you know..."  
  
"So we'll tell them in a few months."  
  
"Sydney..."  
  
She sighed. "Okay, okay. We'll go to dinner. We'll tell them."  
  
"Do you want to tell your dad first?"  
  
"No," she said. "Francie comes before Dad. She's been my family for much longer."  
  
"I'd like to tell my mom," he mentioned quietly. "Want to go to Santa Barbara for lunch?"  
  
She nodded. "Okay." She paused. "You know what they're going to say, don't you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"That this is too soon."  
  
I agreed with that whole-heartedly.  
  
"I don't know about that. My mother's going to be thrilled."  
  
Well, that makes one...  
  
"They're going to say that we aren't ready for this."  
  
That's because you aren't, I wanted to say. You picked the wrong man, and now you're never going to be free of him.  
  
"Why does it matter what they think?" he asked, and she sighed.  
  
"I don't know. I guess it shouldn't."  
  
I wanted to run inside and explain to her exactly how much it should matter. It should matter a lot. In fact, if she really, really listened to their qualms -- if she had just once listened to her father about Vaughn -- maybe she wouldn't be in this mess.  
  
  
*June 16, 2004*  
  
I heard last night that she was going to tell her father, and I got curious, so I stopped by to see how it was going. They had eaten dinner, obviously, because Vaughn was clearing plates from the table. Jack sat down in the living room with Sydney and asked how the house plans were coming.  
  
"Slowly," she said carefully, giving him a wary smile.  
  
"I hope you'll let me look at the blueprints once they're finished," he replied, sipping from his wineglass. "This is spectacular; where did you find it?"  
  
"Nina gave it to us," she answered, fidgeting on the sofa. "She went to Napa a few weekends ago with some friends..." She drank slowly from her water glass and looked behind her for Vaughn, who was still gathering things in the kitchen.  
  
"Sydney?" her father asked, his brow furrowing. "Is everything okay?"  
  
"What?" she replied quickly. "No, no, everything's fine."  
  
"You're acting a little strange," he pointed out.  
  
"I know, I know," she said, exhaling as Vaughn moved to sit beside her on the sofa.  
  
"She's okay, isn't she?" he asked Vaughn, who nodded slowly.  
  
"She's fine," Vaughn responded. "She's--"  
  
"--pregnant," Sydney finished quickly, watching her father's eyebrows shoot up. She bit her lip.  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence. Jack finally broke it. "Well...that's great news."  
  
"Dad..." Sydney began.  
  
"I'm happy for you," he said. "You'll have to excuse me, I'm just...surprised."  
  
"So were we," Vaughn commented, grasping Sydney's hand.  
  
"When are you due?" Jack asked calmly.  
  
"February," Sydney replied.  
  
They hadn't planned it, I'm sure of that. There's no way that they would decide to have a baby now, after they hadn't even been married a year and Sydney had just started her new job, which must have been impossible to find halfway through the school year. They hadn't even started their house yet.  
  
Things were going to fall apart if they weren't careful. I was afraid for her.  
  
  
*July 15, 2004*  
  
She's tired all the time now. Her clothes don't fit well anymore. I feel incredibly sorry for her, and I would give my right arm to make her feel better. She's got these horrible dark circles under her eyes.  
  
Francie stopped by today, held out her left hand, and immediately burst into tears. "He proposed," she recounted. "I said yes. Do you remember what happened last time I said yes to a proposal?"  
  
Sydney looped her arm through Francie's and led her to the couch. "John isn't Charlie," she pointed out quietly.  
  
"I know that," France sniffled. "But *still*."  
  
"You love John," Sydney added, sinking back into the couch cushions and resting a hand on her slightly rounded abdomen.  
  
"I loved Charlie, too," Francie countered. "Syd, what am I going to do?"  
  
"If you said yes, you must want to marry him," Sydney replied, yawning. "Sorry."  
  
"S'okay," Francie assured her. "I do want to marry him. But I'm scared."  
  
"That's okay. Marriage is kind of scary."  
  
"Says the woman with a great husband and a baby on the way," Francie remarked. I won't even comment.  
  
"Pregnancy is not all it's cracked up to be," she replied, sarcasm edging into her voice. "You throw up for three months, you have to pee all the time, and at the end? Excruciating pain."  
  
"Where's Michael?" Francie asked, looking around the room.  
  
"He had to work late," Sydney explained. "He'll be home soon. Hey, let me see the ring again."  
  
Francie scooted closer, holding out her left hand. The diamond was huge, much larger than Sydney's. "That's quite a rock," Sydney commented.  
  
"I know," Francie agreed, studying it. "It must have cost him a fortune."  
  
"Just...make sure I'm not too huge when you get married, okay? Before the stomach or after, not during," she requested with a smile.  
  
"You've got it," Francie said, beaming. "I'm getting married..."  
  
"You're getting married," Sydney replied, pulling her into a hug. "Congratulations, sweetie."  
  
  
*August 2, 2004*  
  
Will left abruptly three days ago, and Sydney and Francie are panicking. I'm not sure what's happened to him, to be completely honest. If I knew, I'd go get him back. That'd bring Sydney's blue skies back.  
  
Vaughn seems worried about her; I'll give him that much. He's called in sick to work the last few days, choosing to stay at home with her while Francie searches around. He sits with her at night, just holding on to her. I wish it was me; at least it's someone.  
  
Last night he took her to the hospital; her back started hurting, and she called out that she was having stomach pains. He scooped her up and took her out to the car, racing to the emergency room. I followed, practicing my cough on the way there.  
  
I sat on the opposite side of the waiting room, my nose buried in a magazine. He sat restlessly, constantly fidgeting and shifting positions. Finally a doctor came in and told him that he could come back; everything was okay, she hadn't miscarried the baby.  
  
He insisted that she rest today, and she spent the day in bed, trying to sleep. I feel awful for her, but I can't do anything to help.  
  
  
*August 3, 2004*  
  
He strolled back in through Sydney's front door today, and she proceeded to completely chew him out. "Where have you been?" she shouted. "What makes you think you can do something like this?"  
  
"Don't yell at me," Will replied brusquely. "And I can't talk about it, so don't ask."  
  
  
*September 4, 2004*  
  
Francie married John today in the garden wedding I always imagined that Sydney would have. Sydney was the maid -- matron, actually, I guess -- of honor; she walked down the aisle on the arm of John's best friend. She had finally started to really show, and her dress showed off the soft curve of her abdomen. Her hair was swept away from her face. She was gorgeous.  
  
At the reception, she sat beside Vaughn, her eyelids drooping. "We can go home if you want," Vaughn offered, massaging the back of her neck.  
  
"No, we can't leave yet," she disagreed, picking at the white tablecloth. "We've got to stay for Francie."  
  
"I think she'll understand," Vaughn pointed out. "You're exhausted, Syd."  
  
"I'm fine," she replied, sighing and propping her feet up on his knees. "Just...ankles?"  
  
He nodded, moving his hands to her ankles and rubbing them slowly. "Good?"  
  
"Perfect," she agreed.  
  
They stayed for another hour, mingling with the other guests, until Francie practically ordered Vaughn to take Sydney home. I was glad. She looked so uncomfortable, and that isn't good for any of us.  
  
  
*October 17, 2004  
  
I stopped by her house to check on her tonight. It seemed like a run of the mill evening at home; Vaughn brought a pint of Cherry Garcia home with him -- her latest craving -- and they curled up on the sofa to watch television.  
  
Suddenly, she gasped, and my eyes turned toward her. "What is it?" Vaughn asked quickly.  
  
"Hang on," she replied, shutting her eyes.  
  
"Syd..."  
  
"Just a second," she repeated, and then she gasped again. "Feel," she instructed, grabbing his hand and flattening his palm against her belly. "Right there..."  
  
He waited for a moment, and then his eyes lit up. "Whoa. Is that the first time...?"  
  
"Uh-huh," she answered. "That feels so weird." She paused. "This really makes it feel real."  
  
He nodded. "We're going to have a baby..."  
  
She murmured something I couldn't hear in response and kissed him on the mouth.  
  
  
*November 26, 2004*  
  
It was ninety degrees on Thanksgiving. I stayed at home in the morning, and I had planned to stay at home all night. I needed to stop seeing her. I knew that. It was just so difficult to leave her when she was in a position to be in danger. I wasn't certain that her husband could take care of her.  
  
I broke at six-thirty, and I crept over to her house silently. She was hosting Thanksgiving dinner, and her mother-in-law had insisted upon coming over and helping with the food -- they had discussed it last night over the telephone. Nina was happily setting the table, speaking in quiet French to Vaughn as he carried the turkey to the table. I don't understand French.  
  
"How are you feeling, dear?" Nina asked Sydney, who shrugged.  
  
"My back hurts, but that's about it," Sydney replied. Her whole face glowed as she smiled at Nina. "I haven't been sick for months."  
  
"I remember that subsiding eventually, too," Nina reminisced. "Of course, this one kept me on my toes. No wonder he turned out to be a hockey fanatic like his dad; he skated around in my stomach the whole time." She jabbed Vaughn in the side, and he rolled his eyes.  
  
"We're going to the doctor tomorrow," Sydney said as she carefully folded a stack of cloth napkins. "I think we're going to find out the sex."  
  
"Really?" Nina asked. "I thought you were going to be surprised."  
  
Sydney shook her head. "We need to decide on a name. That and I'm really curious."  
  
I could hear Vaughn laugh from the kitchen. "She and Francie did this crazy superstition thing with her wedding ring and a piece of my hair," he said as he carried in a basket of rolls. "If we go according to that, then it's a boy."  
  
"I don't believe it, though," Sydney replied. "It's a girl. I'm eighty percent sure."  
  
"Have you thought about any names?" Nina asked, arranging the silverware.  
  
Sydney shrugged. "Nothing serious. Your son hasn't offered anything except Wayne and Gordie."  
  
"Both perfectly good names," Vaughn defended.  
  
"Wayne Vaughn?" his mother asked incredulously, and Vaughn laughed loudly.  
  
"I'm not serious."  
  
Nina made a face. "I should hope not."  
  
I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up, all the lights were out in the house and all the cars were gone from the driveway. I trudged home in the darkness.  
  
  
*December 31, 2004*  
  
"Happy New Year!" Francie chirped as she and John walked through Sydney's front door.  
  
It wasn't exactly the New Year yet, but I couldn't point that out. I was sitting outside the window, watching Jack peruse the blueprints that Vaughn had spread out on the dining room table. "I like the stairs," Jack said, nodding slowly. "They're positioned well. It'll keep them away from the baby until she can climb." Sydney had been right; it was a girl. A sonogram photo was magneted to the refrigerator door.  
  
"I thought that was a good idea," Vaughn agreed. "We wanted to keep her room on the bottom floor."  
  
Jack nodded again. "These are well done."  
  
"My friend Joe is an architect," Vaughn reminded him. "He does good work."  
  
"When do you start?"  
  
"Excavation for the basement starts in a week."  
  
The party was small and uneventful until Alice unexpectedly showed up with Joe and Jamie. She proceeded to explain that she had lost her job; she latched on to the champagne right away and ended up completely drunk before the night ended. Sydney looked on warily as Alice talked with Vaughn.   
  
Then, at midnight, as Vaughn moved to go kiss his wife, Alice grabbed him and planted one on him. He pushed her away carefully, and she stood there, looking up at him. She burst into tears and ran out; Joe and his wife followed, explaining that they would drive her home.  
  
Sydney looked as if she didn't know what to say. If an escapade like that isn't proof that I'm right about the whole situation, I'm not sure what is.  
  
  
*January 11, 2005*  
  
Sydney needs my help now more than ever; her husband has done something incredibly stupid. What kind of idiot breaks his leg when his wife is eight months pregnant? Idiot, thy name is Vaughn.  
  
He's got a cast up to his knee, and suddenly Sydney is the more mobile of the two. She walks around the house slowly, but rests most of the time. She's taken the second semester off from her job at the school, so she's at home all the time.  
  
From what I gather, Vaughn was walking around the building site when he tripped over something and fell awkwardly. I'm beginning to think she would have been better off with the disturbed, paranoid reporter than someone dense enough to do this.  
  
  
*February 2, 2005*  
  
She's in labor. She started having contractions last night at home, and Francie came over to drive them to the hospital. Vaughn's still in his cast, and will be for another three weeks or so.  
  
I decided to go to the hospital. I'm not sure if it was a good decision, but I did it anyway. I'd been planning it for a while; I wore a disguise, masquerading as a janitor in the maternity ward. I beat them to the hospital, and I watched as they calm in the door. Sydney was in a wheelchair, her hair tucked behind her ears; Vaughn followed behind on a pair of crutches.   
  
I couldn't hear most of what was going on, because I had to be careful. I couldn't stand beside the door and listen; I couldn't stay in one place for any amount of time. I had to look busy.  
  
I only got to see her once today. A nurse spilled a pitcher of ice and water outside Sydney's open door, and I could hear her and see her from outside while I cleaned it up.  
  
"You're sure you don't want the epidural, then?" a nurse asked skeptically, and Sydney shook her head adamantly.  
  
"No," she said. "I can handle it. No drugs."  
  
"Okay," the nurse answered, raising her eyebrows and shaking her head. "It's all up to you, then, Dad."  
  
Vaughn nodded, not looking up at the nurse; he was holding one of Sydney's hands in both of his. "She'll do fine," he assured the nurse. "She's up to it."  
  
The nurse couldn't possibly understand. Sydney had been tortured, she'd been beaten, and a million other things while she worked for SD-6. She knew what pain was like, and she had been taught techniques to deal with it. Standard agent stuff. I watched some of the agents at FTL go through the same type of training.  
  
A contraction hit her while I was mopping, and she breathed through it slowly. Vaughn moved one hand to stroke her forehead lightly. "Okay?" he asked once the lines on the monitor had moved back to normal.  
  
She nodded, exhaling. "This isn't that bad. I'm not going to let them give me medication."  
  
"I won't let them," he assured her. "I know how much you hate sedatives."  
  
Five hours later, she was still in labor; five hours after that, the baby still hadn't been born. I wondered if she was all right. This kind of thing couldn't last forever.  
  
  
*February 3, 2005*  
  
The baby was born at 8:25 this morning: a girl with dark hair and the usual bright blue eyes. Two hours after she was born, she was in the nursery while Sydney slept. I walked by with my mop and noticed Vaughn standing outside the nursery, peering through the windows.  
  
"One of those yours?" I asked quickly, pausing by the window.  
  
Vaughn leaned on his crutches and pointed to a bassinet near the window. "Ellie...a row from the front."  
  
The baby was sleeping, wrapped up in a light green blanket. "She's a cute one."  
  
He beamed. "Thank you. She looks like my wife."  
  
"Must have a beautiful wife."  
  
"I do, actually," he remarked, smiling.  
  
I went along on my way. I only saw them once more that afternoon before leaving; Sydney was sitting up in bed, the baby cradled in her arms.  
  
I had to give this up. Maybe she would be okay without me. I'd worked so hard to make sure she was safe; nothing had happened.  
  
Maybe I needed to reconcile myself with the fact that I was the one who needed her, not the other way around. I felt safe when I was near her. I wasn't ready to explain that yet.  
  
  
*April 17, 2005*  
  
Happy birthday, Sydney. She's thirty-one today: hard to believe, isn't it? She doesn't look her age. You'd never know that she had a baby two months ago, either; the weight somehow melted right off of her.  
  
Vaughn's walking normally again, and when I stopped by to see her on her birthday, he was walking around the living room, patting the baby gently on her back. She burped loudly, and he smiled. "Good girl," he murmured, kissing her on the top of the head.  
  
"We have ice, don't we?" Sydney asked, meandering through the living room.  
  
"We've got ice," he confirmed. "Everything's good to go."  
  
"I feel like we're forgetting something," she said absently, sitting down in a chair and leaning her head back.  
  
"Relax, birthday girl," Vaughn teased, and Sydney smiled.  
  
"I love birthdays. I don't care how old I get, I'm always going to love my birthday."  
  
"I'm glad," he replied, grinning. "I happen to like your birthday, too."  
  
"Because you get cake?" she asked innocently.  
  
The baby squealed, and Vaughn laughed. "You can't have cake," he said seriously, looking Ellie straight in the eyes. Ellie stared back, and when Vaughn's mother walked in the room, she cracked up.  
  
"You and your father used to do that when you were a baby," she said, laughing. "Happy birthday, sweetheart." She leaned down and kissed Sydney on the cheek.  
  
"Thanks, Nina," Sydney replied, grinning.  
  
"Now, give me my grandchild," Nina ordered, holding out her hands. Vaughn handed Ellie over and whipped the burp rag off his shoulder. He peered out the front windows at the car that had just pulled into the driveway.  
  
"Your dad's here," he called out.  
  
Sydney sighed. "Just let him in...I don't think I'm going to move from this spot all night."  
  
She did, of course. Francie and John came over, along with Eric, Will, Amy, Joe, and Jamie; everyone brought packages. Nina put Ellie to bed, and they all sat around and talked about work and family and everything else. The house was finished; the carpet-layers were coming in a few days.  
  
Maybe I should make a resolution. They'll be moving soon; that could be the end of this. I don't think she needs me anymore.  
  
I need her. But this...this just isn't worth it anymore.  
  
  
*June 3, 2005*  
  
They moved in five weeks ago, and I haven't been to the new house. I've decided to leave Los Angeles. Maybe I should just go jump off that bridge in Romania. I should have done that in the first place. It would have been easier.  
  
I packed up my apartment, such as it is. I've decided to go see her one more time. I still love her, and I can't leave without seeing her. Maybe that will sustain me for a little longer.  
  
I will head up the hill to their house and peer in the window. Maybe Vaughn won't be home. I should go in the late afternoon, when it's dusky enough to stay hidden but light enough that the sunset will reflect on her face beautifully. I'll see her holding her daughter, or talking on the telephone, or cooking.  
  
I just need to see her again. One more time.  
  
FIN  
  
February 8, 2002 


End file.
